


The Welcoming

by Raine_Wynd



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-04-26
Updated: 2004-04-26
Packaged: 2017-10-08 15:40:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/77167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raine_Wynd/pseuds/Raine_Wynd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Xander comes home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Welcoming

Of all the things Xander Harris thought would happen when he was thirty-five, sharing a house with Willow and her latest girlfriend in Seattle were not on the list. He'd done Stuff with His Life, Important Stuff That Could Be Mentioned in Daylight and Among Normal People, but ultimately, it hadn't mattered. The life he'd built in New Sunnydale as part of one of the top construction firms in the region had shattered when his wife died. Some teenage cult had decided she made the perfect sacrifice, and all the illusions Xander had built that life in New Sunnydale would be demon-free vanished.

He'd called Willow, of course. Babbled incoherently, to be more precise, but he wasn't going to remember that now. He stepped out of the car and took a deep breath before walking to the door. He wasn't surprised to see the wards burned into the woodwork of the front door, and a half-smile rose to his lips as he realized Willow was still not taking any chances against vampires...or any number of demons he hadn't wanted to remember, but now could with entirely too much clarity. He barely depressed the doorbell when it was flung open.

"Xander!" Willow greeted him enthusiatically. "Welcome home."

And oddly, it felt like home to step in, smell the faint scent of magic, and see that just beyond Willow stood Buffy and Giles and Dawn and some friends he'd met over the years, and the loneliness he hadn't wanted to admit to having faded. This is where he needed to be.

4.26.04


End file.
